


Well-Balanced

by kitszilla



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Blood, Injury Recovery, M/M, flustered!Hanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitszilla/pseuds/kitszilla
Summary: McCree's injured on a mission, but Hanzo's there to pick up his slack, and to get him home safe. Sometimes you need a helping hand, and sometimes that helping hand becomes a friend, or maybe something more.





	1. Watch Your Step

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy some short, not-yet-romantic Hanzo and McCree~. Don't ask too many questions, this is unbeta-ed, and...we'll just see where it goes. :)

His attention on the pursuing Talon agents, McCree didn't notice the overhang in front of him. He leapt off it with no preparation, landing roughly at the bottom. Hanzo, already there, offered him a hand up, and it was only when they both turned to keep running that McCree realized there was a problem.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as his leg gave way beneath him. A gaping wound slashed across his leg just above the knee, blood already welling up and staining his torn pant leg. He attempted to rise again, and his leg buckled again, unable to support his weight.

“We need to move,”Hanzo snapped, notching an arrow and firing it neatly through the throat of a pursuing agent.

“Don't think I don't know-” McCree started, only to be cut off as Hanzo hoisted him over one shoulder, slinging him up like a sack of potatoes. He took off at a brisk trot towards the drop zone, the other man bobbing along as he carried him.

Adapting quickly, McCree turned his attention to picking off any pursuit, his well-aimed shots keeping the worst of it away from them. As the last of the agents fell away, McCree chuckled to himself. “Hope I’m not too heavy, darlin’. Haven’t been watching my waistline as much as I should,” he admitted with a grin.

“I can tell,” Hanzo huffed, breath coming fast. He could see the dropship ahead though, ramp deployed and waiting. His legs kept churning, carrying them forward to safety. “And I am not your darling.”

Behind him, Hanzo heard the spin and click of McCree reloading Peacekeeper, and then one more shot rang out. “Well, don’t say I’m not carrying my own weight around here, Han,” McCree said, the grin on his face audible. “Somebody’s gotta watch your back.”

“Do me a courtesy, and stop your chatter.” Hanzo’s words were short and clipped, his muscles starting to tire from the run and from the extra weight of the world’s most flirtatious (and most annoying) cowboy.

“Is Tracer with you?” Lucio called out from the bottom of the ramp, his brow knit in concern. With the pursuit ongoing, they wanted to be wheels up as fast as possible, and without Lena, they weren’t going anywhere.

“Just us, Luce,” McCree called out. Then, realizing the view of himself he was presenting to the other man, “You know my ass doesn’t look anything like Lena’s.”

“Damn right it doesn’t,” Lena chirped, appearing with a popping noise and a flicker of blue light. “You only wish. Let’s get moving!” She flickered ahead onto the dropship as Hanzo unceremoniously dumped McCree at the top of the ramp. His lungs burned, and his arms, back, shoulders, legs already ached with the effort. 

Blood spattered onto the metal from the McCree’s still-bleeding wound, and Lucio’s face instantly hardened. McCree let him support him long enough to get settled into one of the bucket seats, and collapsed into it, his face pale and drawn. “How much blood has he lost?” Lucio asked Hanzo as he knelt beside McCree, attention focused on the wound. Dim yellow light illuminated his face, softly glowing from his suit, a soothing melody flowing out from him.

“Too much, from the look of him,” Hanzo replied, stepping forward to peer a little more closely at the other man’s ashy face. “Injured by his own stupidity,” he scoffed, though his face didn’t match the harshness of his words. “We need to go!” he barked, turning sharp eyes towards the front of the ship.

“I know, luv, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” Lena called back, a bit of annoyance in her voice. “I’m working on it!”

Lucio’s gloved hands worked quickly, wrapping layer after layer of gauze around McCree’s leg, trying to put enough pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding. “Pass me the trauma kit,” he asked Hanzo, extending a hand in it’s direction.

Hanzo retrieved it, passing it to Lucio, who rummaged through it for more bandages. McCree, noticing Hanzo's return, grinned weakly up at him “They’re waitin’ on me hand and foot,” he joked, nodding towards Lucio. Hanzo’s lips quirked ever so slightly - the cowboy could never just take things easy and rest. McCree opened his mouth to tease him about the smile, but stopped as a gray fuzz started to fill his vision, and a pleasant warm sensation rose up his face. 

Hanzo’s eyes flicked anxiously towards Lucio as McCree’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped back against the side of the bucket seat. “He’ll be fine,” Lucio pronounced. “As long as we get out of here now. Lena!”

“Hold on to your seats, we’re wheels up in five, four…” she called back, as the dropship’s engines started to surge. Hanzo and Lucio lunged for their seats, barely strapping themselves in before they were on their way back to the watchpoint. Lucio sat beside McCree, monitoring him the whole flight. But it was Hanzo who never took his eyes off him.


	2. Pizza Has All The Food Groups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from an injury is hungry work, and Hanzo is maybe a tad bit judgmental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...ya'll like some McHanzo, I see. Here's some more, short and sweet. This weird little story is growing on me, so we'll see where it goes. More will be coming Wednesday! I'm working on this now in between plotting and planning a longer story, so this one will likely just be short blurbs, a weird sort of mutual pining, flustered!Hanzo, and dumb boys not acknowledging any sort of feelings. Enjoy~.
> 
> Also, if you'd like, I'm [kits-zilla](https://kits-zilla.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

 

McCree showed up in the watchpoint kitchen late that night, leg stitched and bandaged, rehydrated but hungry. He was eating directly out of the refrigerator when Hanzo came in, searching for a late night snack.

“Want some?” McCree offered, holding out a slice of cold pizza from the box in front of him.

“Full of class, as usual,” Hanzo scoffed, taking a glass from the cabinet and pouring himself some water.

“Aw, c’mon, I lost a lot of blood. Angela said I need to refuel.”

“With pizza?” Hanzo raised one eyebrow, appraising the pepperoni slice in McCree's hand.

The other man held it up triumphantly. “You're just not looking at it right, Han. This’s a fully balanced meal! Carbs, protein, fat…”

“Hardly healthy.”

“Look, there's even a vegetable!” McCree crowed, picking a piece of green pepper off and holding it up for Hanzo’s appraisal.

“You should be eating better, especially while you're healing,” Hanzo scolded him, ignoring the pepper. “We cannot afford to have weaknesses. I'd hate for you to be even more of a burden.”

McCree was quiet for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully. In the dim light of the kitchen, he met Hanzo’s eyes squarely, despite the other man's harsh words. At last, he swallowed, then shoved the mostly empty pizza box back into the fridge. “Sharp words, for a man who's only crime was enjoying some pepperoni,” he commented, tone blase. “Seems like I got under your skin.” He grinned, then winked cheekily. “I've got a way of doing that to folks.”

Hanzo felt his cheeks flush, thankfully hidden in the darkness of the kitchen. “I apologise,” he replied stiffly, looking at the floor. “I should have held my tongue.”

“No apology needed,” McCree answered, picking up his crutch from where he'd propped it against the counter. “That ain't the worst I ever heard.” He started hobbling towards his quarters, moving gingerly, careful not to jostle his injured leg. “Have a good night, darlin’,” he called, just as the kitchen door shut behind him.

Hanzo stood there in the dull light, glass of water long empty. He'd spent a lifetime learning to read people, under the most extreme of circumstances, learning every twitch and nuance that might help seal a deal or betray a lie. But Jesse McCree was...unfathomable. His jokes and humor made him slippery, but Hanzo refused to be made a fool.


	3. Target Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree can't sleep, so he ends up at the target range. And what better place to spend your time, and maybe bond with a certain archer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love you all, have a longer (much longer) chapter, and, as promised, on Wednesday! This was originally going to be kind of short, but your story hits give me life and motivation. So here's a nice longer chapter. Keep in mind this is still un-betaed, so please forgive any typos or other errors. As always, you can find me on Tumblr at [kits-zilla](https://kits-zilla.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Enjoy some manly competition and vaguely flirtatious bonding~.

The next morning, McCree was already at the practice range when Hanzo came down for his pre-breakfast archery session. While Hanzo was already showered, groomed, and prepared for the day, McCree obviously hadn't even slept. He was disheveled, his hair tangled. His wrinkled red t-shirt was the same one Hanzo had seen him wearing yesterday.

A brief frown of disapproval crossed Hanzo’s face, but he choked down any comment, remembering their conversation of the night before. Waiting outside, he watched the other man set the computer and wait for the target bots to begin their movement. They moved fast, the computer sending them in random patterns - he must have the difficulty setting quite high. McCree squared his shoulders and raised his weapon, the fluorescent light glinting off the gun barrel. Six shots, methodical and precise. Six target bots exploded, and despite the door between them, Hanzo swore he could hear the familiar metallic twirl and click as McCree reloaded. Six more shots, six more bots. Despite the other man's haphazard appearance, his aim wasn't hurt one bit.

Once McCree had finished his rounds and holstered his gun, Hanzo palmed the door lock and entered. “May I join you?” he asked, nodding at one of the open target lanes at the other end of the practice range.

McCree nodded amiably, a bit bleary-eyed. “Don't need to go as far away as that,” he offered. “Promise I don't bite. Especially if you give me some of that coffee I smell.”

“I don't have any cream or sugar,” he warned as he passed him the thermos.

“Really?” McCree complained, giving Hanzo his most wounded look. “You think I need that shit? The only way coffee is even really coffee's if you drink it straight. Seems like you already know that yourself, though.”

He glugged some coffee into the cap of the thermos, using that as his mug and handing the rest back. “Thank you kindly.”

“You didn't sleep.” It was a statement, not a question. Hanzo sipped his own drink, watching the other man with sharp eyes.

“Found it a little difficult. Kept wishing my leg would just come off so I could get some rest,” he explained, gesturing down at his wound. A brace kept his leg stiff so it wouldn't tear at his stitches, and a bandage wove around his thigh just above his knee.

“I thought your doctor… Ziegler?” Hanzo wasn't sure of all the names yet, it had only been a few weeks. “She was supposed to be the world's leading expert on biotic technology.”

McCree laughed, shaking his head. “And you think she'd waste all that expensive tech on a mangy stray like me?”

“You're hardly a stray. You've been with Overwatch for years, correct?”

There was a long pause while McCree focused on his coffee. “So to speak,” he finally answered. “Still, she warned me off this time, said I'm perfectly capable of healing on my own. Told me to get some rest.”

“And yet you end up here at six in the morning with no sleep.”

“Yup,” he answered easily, finishing the rest of his coffee and turning his attention back to the range. “Don't go tattling on me now.”

“I've learned how to keep some secrets, in my time.” Setting his thermos down, he pulled Storm Bow from his back, stringing it with a practiced, easy motion. “Let's see if staying up all night has hurt your aim, cowboy,”he taunted, a sneer on the last word. The corner of his mouth turned up as he caught McCree's eye, softening the challenge a bit.

McCree chuckled, picking up Peacekeeper from the tabletop where he'd left it. Reloading it with an easy flick of his wrist, he nodded. “Alright,” he drawled. “You're on.”

Ignoring the wink, Hanzo moved to his lane, settling himself. “Best of three?” he asked over his shoulder, watching McCree adjust the target bot console.

“Sure,” the other man agreed. “I'll set the first round a little easier, let you warm up.”

Hanzo ignored him. Funny, he'd only been here a few weeks and he was already getting somewhat used to just letting McCree's words drift in one of his ears and out the other. In his target lane, he nocked an arrow, and nodded. McCree's thumb hit the start button, and the bots began to move, some slow, some fast, some in arcing swirls, and some stuttering along erratically.

His focus narrowed, like a tunnel closing in around him. Each breath seemed to come incredibly slowly. Draw and breathe in… aim… release, breath and arrow together. The first of the bots neatly exploded, shortly followed by the second. Mechanically, his body moved easily through the motions, years of practice making the routine as much a part of him as his own blood and bone was. The tenth target popped, the bot skittering to a halt. 

He let his focus return to the world around him, and lowered his weapon to see McCree nodding appreciatively. Hanzo cocked an eyebrow, and swept a hand towards the other firing lane. “All yours.”

McCree shook his head, looking at the ground. “Not bad,” he admitted. “But you’ll just have to see what a real weapon can do.” It was McCree’s turn to ignore the other man now, who huffed sarcastically at his last comment. Hobbling over to the firing lane, he jerked his head at the control console. “If you would?”

Hanzo queued up the console, setting the target bots on the same routine he’d just done himself, then hopped up onto a nearby ledge to sit and watch. McCree squared up in his lane, careful to avoid putting too much weight on his bad leg. His right hand rose, and the first gun shot rang out, hitting one of the fastest moving bots. Another, and another, and then the quick whirl and click of reloading. A split-second pause - Hanzo watched him carefully, as McCree’s eyes didn’t leave the bots, reading their patterns and waiting for the best moment… A spray of gunfire, all in a row, and 5 more of the bots exploded, practically at the same instant. The tenth bot, however, continued on it’s path, looping in slow spirals.

“Your ‘real weapon’ seems lacking,” Hanzo pointed out, a grin curving across his lips.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was really packing,” McCree countered, turning back to Hanzo with a well-practiced quirk of an eyebrow.

The other man gave him a withering look, obviously unimpressed. “Regardless, you lost this round. Crudeness won’t help your cause.”

He shrugged, limping back over to the control console. “Figured it couldn’t hurt. Besides, it depends on what cause I’m after.” He glanced over at Hanzo, met his eyes, and winked, a big, cheeky, obvious sort of wink. For as corny as it was, it shouldn’t have had the sort of effect it did on Hanzo. He felt himself start to flush, indignation and a strange sort of embarrassment turning the tips of his ears pink.

He was saved from having to respond by the door to the practice range sliding open as someone else came to join their morning training session. “Good morning~!” Hana sang out. She was obviously ready for a workout, wearing blazing pink running leggings and a white tank top with a cartoon rabbit printed on it, cradling her own large mug. The aroma of coffee and cream wafted across the room as she came in. “How long have you guys been in here?”

Hanzo checked the time briefly, and was surprised that so much time had gone by so fast. “An hour or so, Ms. Song,” he replied. “Care to join us?”

“I’ll wait until I’ve finished my coffee before I even think about picking up a weapon,” she answered, demonstratively taking a big sip. “I’m just passing through on my way to the gym. You two just doing target practice?”

“Hardly,” McCree interjected as Hanzo started to answer. “We’re in the middle of a competition, best out of three rounds.”

“Oh?” At the mention of a competition, her ears perked up, and her attention flicked from Hanzo to McCree and back. “Who’s winning?”

“I am,” Hanzo stated firmly.

“Hey, now, there’s still two more rounds to go,” McCree said, waving a dismissive hand. His balance wavered as he stepped away from the control console, and Hana’s eyes dropped to his leg.

“I’m not so sure, Mr. McCree.” She gestured to his bandage, where some blood was starting to seep through the outer layer. “Dr. Ziegler’s going to want to see you again if that bleeding keeps up.” 

“That’s old news, I’m fine.” He flapped a hand at her, shooing her towards the gym. She didn’t move, but just stared back at him skeptically, then turned and gave Hanzo a meaningful look. 

“Don’t be a fool, McCree,” he agreed, taking one glance at the bandage and knowing the other man was lying. “That’s fresh. And how long have you been awake now?”

“Well, assuming it’s about seven in the morning… about eighteen, nineteen hours?”

Hana cursed under her breath. “Didn’t they ever teach you anything about taking care of yourself in all this time you’ve been part of Overwatch?”

“It’s never been high on the priority list.” Now that they were pointing these things out, he did feel completely exhausted. Maybe that’s what he’d needed to sleep - just to stay awake until he couldn’t anymore. And as much as he wanted to stay and finish up their friendly competition, he was old enough now to not make quite as many stupid decisions. “Don’t bother Angela,” he assured them. “Ya’ll have a point though.”

“He must not be feeling good, to admit that,” Hana stage-whispered to Hanzo, leaning in conspiratorially.

“I...shall be heading back to my room,” McCree announced grandly, settling his crutch under his arm. “We’ll finish another time?” he asked Hanzo, tilting his head towards the practice range.

“You’re only faking, so you can avoid losing,” Hanzo teased. Looking at McCree though, he could see the effects of fatigue on the other man’s face - he was paler than usual, heavy bags under his eyes. His rumpled clothing and hair all combined to make the overall effect quite pitiable. “But of course, Mr. McCree,” he agreed. “Let me help you back to your room.”

“No need,” the other man assured him, starting to take a few steps towards the door.

“I carried you back to the drop ship, a walk of a few meters won’t hurt me,” Hanzo answered. “I won’t have you die here after I went to all that effort.”

“I’m not that easy to kill.” McCree sounded vaguely offended, but allowed Hanzo to hold the door open for him as he navigated through it. 

“Have a good morning, Ms. Song,” Hanzo called back politely as the door slid shut behind them. Through the glass pane, he could see Hana catch his eye, then raise an eyebrow, a lascivious look in her eye. He felt the tips of his ears flush pink again - was everybody here so indecent?

He kept a quiet vigil behind McCree as the taller man led the way back to his room. The watchpoint was quiet at this time of day, though the general population was starting to stir. Only a few were awake and moving at this hour already. Some, though, were glad to finally be finding their bed.

McCree palmed the lock at his quarters and the door slid open. Using his crutch, he shoved a few discarded pieces of clothes on the floor out of the way to make himself a path, then limped in towards the bed. Hanzo, carefully concealing his distaste, followed him in, steadying him when he wobbled after slipping on a sheaf of old reports.

“Sorry for the mess,” McCree mumbled as he sank onto his bed, pulling a rough, rust-orange blanket up around him. “Usually jus’ me.” Hanzo took the crutch from him, setting it against the plain wooden table he was using for a nightstand.

“Get some sleep,” Hanzo replied. “I’ll have Dr. Ziegler check in on you this afternoon.”

“Ah, don’t waste your worry on me,” McCree said, flopping onto his back with a wince as it pulled at his leg.

“It’s not wasted.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, McCree almost too exhausted to process them. Finally, he exhaled, a heavy, relaxed sigh. “Thanks, Han.”

“You’re welcome.” Stepping carefully around the mess, Hanzo left, the door cycling shut behind him. McCree was almost instantly asleep, exhaustion finally catching up with him.


End file.
